


is this motion everlasting

by spectrespecs



Series: all the pretty visitors [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Unsafe driving, making fun of car salespeople, the briefest amount of choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 09:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15458598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectrespecs/pseuds/spectrespecs
Summary: Shiro and Keith go car shopping. That's not how you're meant to test drive a car.Moving on to the Audi dealership next door, Keith tries to get his thoughts back on their actual reason for being here. A car. A car that conveys they’re young, successful, and don’t back down from a thrill or two. Keith is not convinced fully that the car they’re about to test drive is the one, but a look of longing came across Shiro’s face as he circled the R8 in matte black on display inside the dealership’s building. Just seeing that expression on his husband’s face sent a shiver down his spine, and Keith has never been one to deny Shiro what he wants.





	is this motion everlasting

**Author's Note:**

> me: I wonder what Shiro and Keith would be like car shopping
> 
> I hope my dad knows I did listen to all his rants about German cars.
> 
> Title comes from "Evil" by Interpol

Just because their house has a three-car garage doesn’t mean that Shiro and Keith need to make sure it’s occupied by three vehicles. But Keith’s red and black BMW Roadster S 100 R motorcycle takes up such a small portion of the space, so Shiro’s shining silver Mercedes GLC Class SUV is the only one using up a whole section of the garage’s ample size. The SUV serves as Shiro’s everyday car and what the two use most often for mundane trips. Keith’s motorcycle zips him through the city traffic to work, and they both like being pressed tight when they ride together for quick trips that don’t require taking the actual car out. But the couple thinks maybe it’s time for them to go ahead and treat themselves to another car. Something that serves as the in-between of practical yet speedy.

For this reason, Shiro and Keith are standing in the lot of one of the many dealerships that stretch down a mile of highway. As you make your way south on the road running parallel to the highway that turns into each dealership, each car brand gets steadily more expensive. Clearly, with what’s already settled in their garage, they gravitate for the dealerships a bit further south.  

Standing with arms crossed, Shiro examines the specs of a blue BMW 2 Series convertible. This is definitely not what Keith had in mind for what would essentially be their joyriding car because it doesn’t convey the full _hello my husband and I are very successful and can afford the most high-end sports car to only drive on weekends_ vibe that Keith wants.

“But this still looks like a normal car,” Keith whines, coming up behind Shiro and wrapping his arms around the taller man.

It’s early fall with a slight chill in the air and the trees behind the line of car dealerships have started to change color. Shiro is wearing the well-fitted and well-worn soft black turtleneck sweater that Keith likes most, and he runs one hand down his husband’s abdomen, feeling the muscles there, both in appreciation for his physique and to pull him away from the car.

“We need to evaluate all our options,” Shiro replies as if this was the most obvious fact in the world, hands grasping Keith’s wrists before he could move any further, and prying them off. He turns around to face Keith and lightly takes hold of Keith’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting the dark-haired man’s head to look at him. Keith lets a slow smile spread across his face, about to reply with innocence when Shiro speaks first. “Behave,” he breathes out lowly, the word ghosting across Keith’s lips.

Keith doesn’t get a chance to respond before Shiro lets go of him and turns around to move towards the next line of cars that still do not meet Keith’s standards. He huffs in annoyance as he watches Shiro walk away, silver hair shining about as bright in the sun as the hoods of the impeccably waxed cars around them, and Keith tugs his grey leather motorcycle jacket tighter around himself and follows along until his eyes spot the motorcycle portion of the BMW lot that he might have been trying to look out for the entire time.

He can’t help it, it’s natural for Keith to feel the itch to evaluate bikes. The only thing he prefers between his thighs other than Shiro is an expertly engineered motorcycle with its engine humming.

From the corner of his eye, as he tries to secretly abandon their car search, Keith sees Shiro notice his desertion and shake his head with one side of his mouth tugging upward in a knowing half-smile. His husband lets Keith go, and honestly, what had the man expected when they turned up at the BMW dealership first. This was inevitable.

Keith snakes between the rows of new models of the bike he already has sitting at home. He had wanted them to ride it today for looking at cars, but Shiro insisted on the SUV in case they decided to make extra stops on the way home. Losing track of time, Keith gets pulled out of his thoughts suddenly while examining sport model bikes when an employee approaches him asking if he needs assistance. Not one blonde hair on the salesman’s head appears out of place, carefully gelled down, and his blue button-up shirt and khakis look crisply pressed, a clean pleat running down his legs. He has a BMW windbreaker on over the shirt and a look in his eye that conveys he so badly wants to prove something to his boss by making a sale.

“Thank you, I’m just looking for now,” Keith tries to sound as kind as possible while trying to brush the man off before he starts to hover around, waiting like a predator to jump on some possible commission for the day.

“Ah, okay,” the salesman who looks kind of like a Brett muses, not leaving Keith alone. “Saving up to get a dream bike one day. Very understandable you would come here to look.”

“No, I already have one of those,” Keith gestures towards where the new models of his Roadster are lined. “Just seeing what this new year has to offer.”

“You already have one?” the salesman asks with disbelief, clearly not meaning to have blurted the question as his eyes widen.

“Is that surprising to you?” Keith arches an eyebrow. He’s used to it. Keith always looked younger than he actually is, and then Shiro always looks older because of his hair and scar. But Keith is the youngest CTO the company he works for has ever had, and Shiro, after leaving piloting behind him, heads the engineering department of an aviation company. They’re more than comfortable and very much able to live their best lives.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean…” potentially named Brett the salesman attempts to correct his fumble, but it’s too late, and his eyes dart to something over Keith’s shoulder.

Keith starts to turn around but a solid body comes up behind him and places a large hand on his shoulder.

“Are you done doing the opposite of what we’re out here for?” Shiro asks, leaning down slightly so the question is said into Keith’s ear.

“Yes, just wrapping up with--I’m sorry what’s your name?” Keith makes eye contact with the salesman again.

“Um, Brad,” he replies, and Keith feels some vindication in his guess at the name.

“Yes, Brad here was just trying to simultaneously sell me a new motorcycle while also not believing that I already have a S 100 R sitting back home in our three-car garage. Isn’t that funny?” Keith says all this with his eyes still on the salesman, who has started to look decidedly uncomfortable. Good. Keith knows that together, Shiro and Keith look severe; Keith knows that together they look absolutely _striking_.

“Don’t tempt him, we’re trying to leave here with a sports car, not another motorcycle for him, Bradley,” Shiro laughs, letting go of Keith’s shoulder and moving to stand beside him instead.

“It’s actually for Bradford,” he corrects.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Shiro replies.

“I said it’s actually short for Bradford.”

“I know, I heard you,” Shiro deadpans back at Bradford-not-Bradley, and takes Keith’s hand to lead him away. Keith tries to hide his laughter by ducking his head into the other man’s shoulder.

“I thought I told you to behave,” Shiro admonishes, but there’s amusement in his voice.

***

Moving on to the Audi dealership next door, Keith tries to get his thoughts back on their actual reason for being here. A car. A car that conveys they’re young, successful, and don’t back down from a thrill or two. Keith is not convinced fully that the car they’re about to test drive is the one, but a look of longing came across Shiro’s face as he circled the R8 in matte black on display inside the dealership’s building. Just seeing that expression on his husband’s face sent a shiver down his spine, and Keith has never been one to deny Shiro what he wants.

“Go ahead, drive it around the area,” the salesman offers, handing over the keys to Shiro, “There’s an empty road behind that line of trees that’s long and pretty straight. You can really see what this baby can do there, the police kind of turn a blind eye over there,” he offers a wink before taking a step back onto the curb of in front of the dealership office.

Keith opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. After Shiro asks some other question to the salesman, he puts his right leg into the driver’s side and his left hand on the top of the car, gliding himself into the front seat and settling down. The maneuver somehow reminds Keith of the first time he saw the other man—gracefully with his tall, broad stature and muscles—easily slip into the cockpit of a sleek new fighter jet that Shiro designed. The memory of how Shiro looked in aviators and the jumpsuit testing pilots wore, as well as the memory of what they did once Shiro landed the plane and they made their way to his office, makes Keith feel a little bit warm in his thin white t-shirt and leather jacket.

Nothing inside overly impresses Keith. The interior continues the all-black theme of the car with the only color coming from the red controls and displays, and Keith appreciates the soft leather seats.

Really, what looks best inside the car to Keith is Shiro, wearing unforgiving black head-to-toe and almost blending in with the interior. The man looks natural to be driving the vehicle, seatbelt snug across his body, left hand on the steering wheel while the right casually rests on the center console with gleaming high-tech hand looking like it was a natural part of the car. The posture caused a slight lean to how Shiro is sitting, so he was just a fraction closer to Keith; it’s how he always drove and Keith would frequently run a hand up and down the right arm, feeling the firm metal underneath, before clasping Shiro’s hand within his own. Sometimes Shiro would respond with a smile, sometimes a quiet hum of satisfaction, pleased at the small gesture from the man he loved.

Today, though, while watching Shiro easily drive the car out of the lot onto the road, Keith didn’t have the soft tug in his heart of affection for the man next to him that always sprung up when Shiro was behind the wheel. Keith didn’t feel like simply grasping Shiro’s hand as a show of appreciation and love. Keith wanted more because something about the way Shiro looked in the car lit a fire inside him, starting with the way his husband had so easily slunk his frame into the driver’s seat.

“Hmm, I think the long road to test the speed should be a couple blocks this way,” Shiro states while taking a moment to figure out how to turn the indicator on for the right turn he was about to take.

Choosing to ignore the comment and not reply, Keith cautiously moves his left hand to rest on Shiro’s right thigh and giving it a small pat before letting his hand sit as a warm presence there. Keith kept his eyes on the road in front of them, trying to appear invested in how the car performed and not at all more interested in any other activity. Shiro made no comment about Keith’s hand settled suspiciously high up.

Once it appeared like Keith was innocently just wanting to touch Shiro as they drove, Keith started to move the hand slowly upward along Shiro’s thigh, following the inner seam of the black denim and applying light pressure as he progressed. Shiro let out a small laugh but still didn’t question what Keith was up to. The slow slide of Keith’s hand stopped when he reached just below the button, and then he palmed Shiro to give a squeeze.

“What are you doing?” Shiro finally breaks and asks. The question uttered plainly as if Shiro had simply walked into their home office and wanted to know what project Keith was working on.

“Just keep your eyes on the road, Shiro,” Keith replies as he gently pops the button of Shiro’s jeans open and flips the pull tab of the zip back and forth with a finger before easing the zipper down.

“I thought I told you to _behave,_ ” Shiro repeats as his right arm moves from its resting place on the center console and firmly grips Keith’s arm, eyes still trained on the road.

“You just look so good in the car, Takashi,” Keith coos softly, his hand pulled slightly back from Shiro’s grip but still able to run two fingers across the now exposed waistband of briefs.

They roll into a four-way stop, but they’re the only car on the road. Shiro doesn’t move. He doesn’t move the fingers tightly wrapped around Keith’s arm, and he doesn’t move the car forward even though no reason exists for them to be sitting at this stop sign for so long. Keith keeps the gentle movements of his fingers going, knowing that this is working up his husband even if he’s trying to pretend it is not.

“Please,” Keith breathes out, and it’s playing dirty. Shiro relinquishes his hold on Keith and pushes his foot on the gas pedal to get them through the intersection. Keith immediately moves his hand into Shiro’s open jeans, resting it over Shiro and cupping him, letting out a small sound of amusement to find how Shiro is already responding to Keith’s work.

“Don’t make me crash,” Shiro grits out.

“You’re the one driving. You don’t crash,” Keith moves his hand inside Shiro’s briefs and wraps his fingers around the hard length. Shiro tries to hide a gasp, but they’ve been together too long and know each other too well for Keith to not recognize the sound.

“The car goes from zero to 60 miles per hour in three seconds,” Shiro casually offers the fact as if a moment ago he had not barely contained himself from crying out at Keith’s touch.

“Do it,” Keith challenges, and starts working Shiro faster after pulling him out of his briefs—also black.

“Anything for you, baby,” Shiro replies, hips bucking up slightly as Keith presses his thumb to the head. “We’re almost at the stretch of road the salesman told us about.”

“What’s the top speed on this?” Keith asks, speeding his movements, not looking at Shiro but out the windshield at the tree-covered two-way street they’re driving down.

“200.”

“You can come when we hit 120.”

“You gotta make me, though,” Shiro laughs darkly, hips again unable to stay down as Keith speeds up more.

“I will,” Keith replies shortly, slowing down his hand and squeezing Shiro’s length, making the other man let out a small whine. It’s a sound that Keith treasures, and he knows every way to make it escape from Shiro’s lips.

They reach the long stretch of road finally, and Shiro brings the car to a stop. His head rolls back onto the headrest, eyes closed, before turning to look at Keith. Shiro’s eyes are clear but fighting the urge to go hazy and half-lidded because of Keith’s hand on him. The look propels Keith forward, grabbing the side of Shiro’s face with his unoccupied hand and crashing their mouths together. It’s messy and open-mouthed, Keith’s breath hitching before pressing his tongue into the other man’s mouth and receiving a moan for his effort. Keith keeps up the quick pace but then gives Shiro a few long, slow strokes, relishing the firmness he feels. This won’t take long, Keith knows.

“Come on,” Keith breathes out against Shiro’s slightly parted mouth before moving back into the passenger seat.

Shiro settles back into his seat as well, breathing edging towards the uneven side as he battles his nervous system to keep it together.

“Okay,” Shiro grits out as Keith’s movements remain languid on him.

Then, Shiro hits the gas, shooting them forward and Keith’s go wide watching the trees blast pas them as they hit 60 in no time. Shiro lets out a cry and tries to thrust into Keith’s relentless hand.

“You’re doing so good, we’re so close,” Keith says as his eyes watch the speedometer tick upwards steadily.

_70...80...90…_

Somehow the last portion of the speed climb feels like it’s taking forever, and Keith finds it hard to breathe because of how fast they’re going and how desperate Shiro looks. Parts of his bangs are clinging to his forehead with sweat, head pushing back into the headrest with mouth open, breathing hard. His eyes are starting to give in to closing, but he’s struggling, knuckles going white with his death grip on the steering wheel. It reminds Keith so much of having Shiro spread out under him on their California King bed at home, riding Shiro hard as Shiro’s hands clutch Keith’s hips. Keith lets out a moan at the thought, and Shiro whines again.

_100...110…_

“Please,” Shiro cries out, and Keith doesn’t know whether it’s at the car to just hit _120_ already or for Keith to let him come, but the speedometer reaches the _120_ mark finally. Keith yells Shiro’s name over the sound of the engine and wind rushing past, and Shiro responds with a moan of Keith’s name as he comes. Shiro manages to have the mind enough to move his foot off the gas pedal while he still manages to barely keep his eyes open to make sure the car stays on the road as he tries to regulate his breathing while coming back down. It’s the same calm and collected yet in control demeanor Shiro maintains while piloting and also when he has Keith pinned against a surface he wants to have his husband on.

The car makes its way back down to a reasonable speed, and Shiro finally brings it to a stop, parking it on the side of the road. Keith waits until Shiro turns to look at him before lifting his hand and cleaning it off with slow licks, eyes locked on the other man.

“We’re getting this car,” Shiro says, eyes dark and breath hitching right before it was almost back to normal.

It’s later, once they have managed to look presentable again and get through the actual process of buying the car, Keith taking the keys from the salesman’s hand and spinning them around his finger while saying it’s his turn to drive it home and pushing Shiro towards the car they drove to the dealership. Keith zips through the city traffic, watching Shiro disappear in the rear view mirror. Shiro’s steel eyes had returned to their kind softness while making the deal with the salespeople, but they went back to molten silver as soon as Keith took the keys in hand. Keith felt like he could feel the burn of Shiro’s gaze even as he gained distance between their cars.

Once in the driveway, Keith has to stop and wait for Shiro to come and open the garage door. Keith’s extremely pleased with himself for how the day has gone. After a couple minutes, Shiro pulls into the driveway and the garage door rises. Keith eases the new R8 into its parking space and turns off the engine, sitting in the car and waiting. The garage door starts making its loud creaking sound as it closes and Shiro slips out of the SUV and walks over to their new car. Keith unlocks the door, and Shiro does the same maneuver from earlier to glide into the passenger seat. He pushes the seat as far back as it will go, while only leaning it back an inch, and just meets Keith’s sly look with one of want making Keith feel needy.

Even though Keith wants to keep the game up, he’s still antsy from their earlier pre-buying christening of the car and _wants_ Shiro. Keith unbuckles the seatbelt and manages to gracefully turn and move over the center console and sit on Shiro’s lap in the passenger seat, legs spread with knees on either side of Shiro’s hips. No words are exchanged between them, just silence and shared smirks as they look at each other, and Keith becomes struck with how much he loves the man under him.

Even though both of them have something primal simmering under their skin, Shiro gently cradles Keith’s face to pull him in for a soft kiss and then trails his lips down Keith’s jawline. Keith sets one hand on Shiro’s shoulder and reaches with the other to twine their fingers together, but Shiro is holding something in his hand, getting in Keith’s path. He pulls back as Shiro lifts his hand and waves the bottle of lube that’s kept in the glove compartment of the Mercedes, the smirk breaking out across his face again.

“We’re going to need a new one for this car,” Keith laughs and presses his forehead against Shiro’s. Not wanting to waste time, Keith pulls his leather jacket off and flings it onto the driver’s seat and reaches to undo his belt. The sound of leather pulling through belt loops makes Shiro twitch under Keith.

Shiro leans back against the seat and watches as Keith pulls off the rest of his clothes, not providing any help as he struggles slightly in the confined space. Once he’s naked, Shiro moves forward and wraps his arms around Keith, moving the dark-haired man to be fully pressed against his still completely dressed body.

“Let me take care of you,” Shiro whispers into Keith’s ear, placing a small kiss behind it. Keith shudders from Shiro’s words and how good the soft sweater and toned body underneath feel against his skin.

Even though they’ve only been in the car for a few minutes, the temperature inside starts to rise and a bead of sweat makes its way down Shiro’s face. Keith stops its trail by quickly moving in to kiss Shiro’s face as it falls. Wanting to rid Shiro of the sweater, pleasant against his skin as it is, Keith prefers Shiro bare and reaches with a hand for the hem to pull it up. The sweater makes it part way up Shiro’s abs when he makes a sound of disapproval and takes Keith’s hand away, placing it on his shoulder. _So this is how it’s going to be_ Keith thinks and acquiesces to whatever Shiro decides upon.

One arm pulls Keith to be pressed up against Shiro while a _snap_ cuts into the quiet sounds of their breathing.

“Kiss me,” Shiro asks quietly, and Keith would never deny that request.

As Shiro runs his tongue along Keith’s lips and then slides it into Keith’s mouth, he presses a slicked finger into the man on his lap. A needy sound rings out from Keith, and he changes his grasp on Shiro from shoulders to neck, thumbs lined up with the other’s jawline. When another finger joins the first, Keith starts trying to rock back on Shiro’s hand while also rubbing his hardness against the exposed portion of Shiro’s stomach.

“Go ahead,” Shiro mutters, voice rough, into Keith’s mouth as they break apart briefly to breathe.

Keith slides a hand down Shiro’s chest until he reaches where the sweater was left partially rucked and raises it more, holding it up so all of his husband’s hard earned muscle becomes uncovered. Resuming his slow grind against Shiro, Keith’s right hand holds Shiro’s neck loosely, not enough to choke, but the possible intent is there. Their eyes remain locked on each other, Keith biting his bottom lip while a dark look takes over Shiro’s face. Keith can feel Shiro’s hardness through the occasional light grazes as he moves. When the third finger works into Keith, he squeezes Shiro’s neck, partly on purpose and partly a result from Shiro automatically knowing where to hit Keith inside to make him let out a loud shout.

Gasping because Keith doesn’t let up on his hold on Shiro’s throat, he continues to work Keith hard inside, not allowing himself to slow down the pace. After a few more seconds, Keith lets go of his hold on Shiro’s neck and stills his movements, grabbing Shiro’s bangs and pulling his head back while going in for a kiss.

“You can fuck me now,” Keith says, breaking them apart while Shiro attempts to chase his mouth up.

Keith raises up on his knees and moves back, leaning on the dashboard, momentarily disappointed when he loses Shiro’s fingers inside him and waits for the other man to move. Shiro simply stares at Keith with a look of awe as if his husband was the only reason the world kept spinning, and honestly, Shiro did feel that way. Under the intense gaze, Keith feels himself blush and the general tone between them change.

“I love you,” Keith says, “I need you.”

The words create a quick fire in Shiro’s eyes, and yes, _finally_ Keith thinks as Shiro moves to lift his hips to pull down his pants and briefs but only as far as he needs to pull himself out. Shiro finds the lube again and starts to work it on himself while looking at Keith.

“I love you, too,” he finally responds with a crooked smile, and it makes Keith laugh because the whole scene is absolutely absurd. It’s not as if they haven’t exchanged the endearment while having sex before, but this time it’s been hot and dirty inside a $140,000 car they purchased less than an hour ago. After test driving it in more ways than one, Keith adds mentally.

“Come here, baby,” Shiro pulls Keith by the hip close again.

With one hand splayed on Shiro’s chest, Keith uses the other to guide Shiro inside him and then works his way down until fully seated. The heat in the car and the sensation of Shiro inside him make Keith burn hotter than any star. Both men groan as they get used to each other, and then Keith starts moving. He keeps the pace slow at first, and Shiro grips his hips, meeting every movement with a hard thrust up. It has Keith crying out each time Shiro pushes inside him, and Shiro’s cheeks are a deep red from exertion and heat. There’s a definite sheen of sweat covering Keith’s body while Shiro’s hair is damp, the occasional stray bead rolling down his face.

Their pace slowly works up until Keith keeps a constant string of _Shiro_ and _Takashi_ coming from his mouth as Shiro drives up hard and fast as he moves Keith up and down. It’s so hot and too much that Keith thinks he’s going to stop breathing if they don’t stop or he doesn’t come soon; he would die rather than give in to the former option.

Shiro makes no sound except the occasional moan of Keith’s name, head pushed back against the headrest with eyes dark and half-open. It’s an image reminiscent of when Shiro was in the driver’s seat earlier today that made Keith think of when they’re in bed, and all the thoughts together along with what’s in front of him make Keith scream at Shiro’s next perfect thrust up. Keith comes with a yell of _Takashi_ sounding through the car, and he vaguely realizes that he’s now ruined what was his favorite sweater of Shiro’s before going limp in his husband’s arms.

Keith tucks his head into Shiro’s neck and makes encouraging sounds and comments about how _good_ Shiro is while he keeps moving inside Keith. Shiro’s breathing stops momentarily and his muscles tense before Keith feels Shiro come inside him, and he whispers praise to the other man as he thrusts weakly through it and finally stops.

They cling to each other, breathing hard and Keith pulls Shiro’s sweater off, ignoring the sound of protest he makes.

“You ruined your favorite sweater,” Shiro mumbles, wrapping his arms around Keith and running a hand through Keith’s sweat-damp hair.

“ _We_ ruined your favorite sweater,” Keith corrects.

“I think we need a new car,” Shiro muses after his breathing has evened out.

“Why?”

“This one...we can only use it for sex. We can’t drive in it. We need a new car.”

Keith weakly punches one of Shiro’s hard biceps as they both start laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> hello feel free to yell at me about Sheith and how we're all going to die before s7 on [Tumblr](http://exitlude.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
